


I Am Lost (to be near you)

by winter_rogue



Series: In Most Walks of Life [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_rogue/pseuds/winter_rogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a dream in his head of a house and a family. They are both his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Lost (to be near you)

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [angst_bingo](http://angst-bingo.livejournal.com), prompt "Lost"
> 
> Set in a nebulous (and probably tumultuous) future (let's call it pre 2.10 divergent)

There’s a dream in his head of a house and a family. They are both his own.

The house is a three stories, large and sprawling, with many rooms. Allison and Scott helped him paint the walls (well, mostly it was him and Allison if he’s being honest). Lydia picked all the colors-- creamy forest greens, golden dandelion, rust-blust red like the color of her favorite lipstick.

The puppies hauled in all the furniture: couches and overstuffed chairs and enough end tables that he always winds up with bruised shins. There are beds now, in all the bedrooms (they are not empty) and late at night he drags Derek out of the house to buy groceries until the refrigerator is practically overflowing.

The family too is his own, a family of circumstances and choice. The puppies and Scott and Allison now that her father has finally moved on to less hospitable hunting grounds. And Lydia comes back to them, eventually, after she’s spent a few years clawing Peter Hale out of her head, replacing him with complex set theory and principles of infinity. Even Jackson has space of his own, when the demons he carries get too heavy.

They’re all Derek’s, pack.

But they’re also _his_. Stiles imagines sometimes tattooing his initials into their skin just to make sure they can never get lost. He’s pretty sure Derek is aware of this thought. Sometimes, when Stiles can feel the worry (panic)in the back of his throat, Derek will climb on top of him and hold him down, anchor him with his body against the soft curve of their bed. Like gravity.

Stiles exhales into it, breathing labored. He fists his hands into the worn cotton of Derek’s shirt (inevitably one of his own too small comic teets, stretched out beyond his ability to salvage it) and inhales his scent. The whole pack smells a little bit like Derek--of course they do-- and so does he. It’s comforting. An indelible reminder: they all belong here, wolves, kanimas, humans.

Derek frames his head with his heavy arms, elbows planted, his hands gently cupping the back of his head.

He says: “Breathe, I’m right here. We’re all right here.” And it uncoils something tensed and anxious in his chest, just a little. Derek never acts impatient; to Stiles this is louder than any I love you.

“Listen, listen to them. You can hear them,” Derek murmurs into his flushed temple. “No one has taken them away.”

There’s a nightmare in Stiles’ head, of fire (flames) engulfing their house. He wonders if he stoles this fear directly out of Derek’s head.

After the fire come the men with their guns and arrows and poison and Stiles wakes up gasping for clean air. He can’t remember having fallen asleep, but Derek is still a warm, heavy weight on top of him, soft puffs of air across his skin where he can feel him breathing.

“I found you, remember,” Derek whispers.

“I know,” he replies and tries to believe it.

END


End file.
